The Tradition
by Plotter at heart
Summary: Newly appointed Elsie Hughes finds a journal in her desk.
1. Chapter 1

She sat at the desk, running her fingers lightly along it. It was hers. A small, self-satisfied smile crossed her lips. She'd worked for this day for years. It had come much quicker than she'd imagined it would.

A fortuitous illness, a trip as a ladies maid and a casual conversation with Mrs. Cross and she'd been offered the head housemaid position with the implicit understanding she would become housekeeper when Mrs. Cross retired. And to think she'd been annoyed when the young ladies maid had taken ill.

Standing she took the chatelaine from the desk and wrapped it around her waist. The heavy keys fell against her leg providing a comforting weight. She walked around the room, acclimating herself to their presence, and wondered if she would ever grow weary of their heft.

There were changes she would make to the sitting room, but not immediately. It wouldn't do to unsettle too much at once. Returning to the desk she opened the drawers, seeing if Mrs. Cross had left anything besides the ledgers behind.

In the bottom left hand drawer was a small journal. Lifting it carefully she noticed it was almost brand new. She hesitated before opening it, afraid it might be personal and didn't want to tread into something that would embarrass Mrs. Cross.

Opening just the cover, she looked for a name. What she found surprised her so much she dropped the journal on the desk. The thud echoed around the room. She looked around hoping no one had been disturbed by the noise.

Confident no one was coming to investigate she opened the cover again. Written in careful script on the first page was a simple title, "The Care and Feeding of Butlers."


	2. Chapter 2

She turned the page, curiosity getting the better of her. In the same careful script was a note addressed to her.

Mrs. Hughes,

I hope I am the first to address you as such in writing. Please know I have complete confidence in your ability to do this job. It is a great responsibility but you are more than equal to the task.

By now you're probably wondering what this journal is about. The title says it all. There is a tradition at Downton where the outgoing housekeeper provides hints on how to manage the butler.

I realize this might seem odd. You might feel that advice about the household would serve you better. But you don't need that sort of advice. You will need help with managing Mr. Carson.

Please don't get me wrong, Mr. Carson is a magnificent butler. There isn't a finer in the land. However, he is but a man, with all of the foibles and follies that go with them. I am not attempting to say Mr. Carson is one of those butlers, the ones we've all encountered. No, Mr. Carson's only flaw is a strict rigidity which often means he will not move easily with the times.

And the times, are changing. Possibly faster than ever before. Mr. Carson will need someone who will help guide him through the swiftly moving sands of time. Someone who will help keep him steady.

I was given just such a manual from the housekeeper before me. It helped me weather many a storm with Mr. Granger. Hopefully, this will do the same for you. I wish you well Mrs. Hughes. As you will no doubt have many more years with Mr. Carson than I had, please add to it. It is yours to keep. When you leave these halls, please continue the tradition with whomever replaces you.

Sincerely,

Nora Cross

Elsie closed the book and slipped it quietly back into the drawer. It seemed such a silly idea really, thinking a grown man needed managing. Quite frankly she would have preferred to have known secrets about the house. There were probably hundreds of those locked in the head of Mrs. Cross. Those would have been helpful, welcome even. This, however, was not worthy of her time.

Mr. Carson was a grown man. He ran the male staff, she the female staff. As adults, they would work together to harmoniously run the house. Shaking her head she turned from the desk, perhaps she would start with a few changes in the sitting room.

As she eyed what she would change first, a loud crash echoed through the halls. It was closely followed by the bellowing baritone of Mr. Carson.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was late. She didn't bother lighting any candles. She tended the fire, making sure it was banked. Looking around the sitting room she mentally made a list of things to do the next day.

Her first day had been less than productive. She'd never really gotten around to her job. Most of her day had been spent putting out fires behind Mr. Carson. It had started with the loud crash and spiraled out of control from there.

The crash had been the result of a footman colliding with a housemaid. Mr. Carson had yelled at the footman and was rounding on her maid when she'd turned the corner. Her intervention had prevented the dressing down of the maid but the footman had gone on to take out his frustration on a hall boy.

The hall boy had then forgotten to bring extra coal and wood into the house resulting in a fire going out in the library. This had delayed the scullery maids which had upset the dreadful cook. All day had been a chain reaction stemming from a simple accident.

Closing her eyes, she hoped tomorrow would be a better day. Her mind wandered to right before the accident, the notebook. Care and feeding of butlers, indeed, at the moment all she wanted to do was throttle the man.

A light tap at her door drew her attention. She turned to find him standing in the doorway, "Mrs. Hughes, if you would like, I could tend to the fire. I know your first day didn't go the way you planned."

"No Mr. Carson, it did not. You created quite the atmosphere with your outburst and I spent all day putting things to rights."

She watched him pull up to his full height, was prepared for the bluster when suddenly he deflated. "I am very sorry Mrs. Hughes. I've been out of sorts all day and I let it get the better of me."

She stared at him for a moment, not quite sure how to respond. She'd been prepared for anger, was almost looking for a row. This meekness, however, was unexpected. Nodding her head, she decided to let him off the hook, "Tomorrow is another day Mr. Carson. Let's make sure it's better."

He met her glance, relief washed over him. He'd not expected mercy from her, "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Would you like me to tend to the fire?"

"No, Mr. Carson, I've already seen to it."

He lingered for a moment, not really wanting the moment to end. When she didn't say anything else, he gave up. "Good night Mrs. Hughes."

"Good night Mr. Carson." She watched him leave, listened until she could no longer hear his footsteps. Turning, she bent to the drawer and removed the journal. Perhaps a quick skim wouldn't go amiss.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She'd undressed, changed into her nightclothes, washed her face then brushed her teeth. The journal was on her nightstand. Her eyes wandered to it several times. Finally, she settled in her bed and lifted it from its resting place.

Holding it in her lap she turned to the first entry after the note to her.

 ** _Rule 1_**

 _Mr. Carson doesn't handle change well. He handles it even less well when his routine is upset. A large part of his routine revolves around meals. However, he will often forgo meals if the family needs dictate it. It is up to you to make sure he eats regularly._

She shook her head. Was the woman serious? It wasn't like he was her husband. If she'd wanted to make sure someone ate, she would have married, had a houseful of kids. Shaking her head she continued reading.

 _At breakfast, make his tea extra sweet, at least three spoons full, and quite a bit of milk. If he skips other meals, bring something to his pantry. I always make a point of taking a pot of tea and joining him in a cup, you should do the same. It will ensure he eats as he wouldn't want to appear rude._

Three sugars and quite a bit of milk, was he a child? She'd seen how many cups of tea he drank a day. With that much sugar no wonder he was starting to get a bit thick around the middle. Well that would stop tomorrow.

 _At breakfast, try to keep the younger staff subdued. Mr. Carson doesn't like any flamboyance early in the mornings. He doesn't really care for it at any time but breakfast is worse. The rest of your day will go smoothly if he has a nice, quiet breakfast._

Well she couldn't argue with that advice. She didn't like a boisterous breakfast either.

 _Mr. Carson is far more likely to be tetchy when he is hungry. Keep him well fed and he is quite easy to manage. A well-fed butler is an easily managed butler._

She closed the book placed it on her nightstand then snuffed out the candle. Flopping back onto the bed she reflected on what she'd read. If Mrs. Cross thought she was going to spend her time chasing after Charles Carson to get him to eat she was sorely mistaken. He was a grown man. He could get his own food and drink thank you very much.

* * *

She woke early the next morning, before the scullery maid knocked at her door. Yesterday had been derailed so she wanted to do a quick walk through before she went below stairs. Making her way to the ground floor she started inspecting each of the rooms.

The last room was the dining room. She was surprised to find Mr. Carson already in the room, "Good morning Mr. Carson. You're up early."

He looked up, surprised to see her, "I could say the same for you Mrs. Hughes. I trust you slept well."

Nodding her head she entered the room, "I did, thank you. I wanted to make sure the maids had given this room a good going over after dinner."

He looked down sheepishly, "Yes, I wanted to do the same." He saw her look of annoyance and realized he'd made yet another mistake where she was concerned, "I know I caused quite a bit of disturbance in your day as well as your staff. I wasn't looking for something to call you, or them, out on. I would have corrected any mistakes myself as they would have been my fault."

"That isn't necessary Mr. Carson. If my maids made a mistake, I will have them correct it. They need to learn to be professional enough to complete their tasks even when their day is disrupted."

He hid a smile, pleased with her professionalism. "Then you will be pleased to know their work was impeccable."

"That is good to know Mr. Carson, I will be sure to pass your praise on to them." She turned to leave, "And, Mr. Carson, do try to do better today."

He watched her leave, a smile finally blooming on his face. Elsie Hughes was a mass of contradictions. She had been both forgiving and scolding. Waiting just a beat, he followed after her.

She was already seated at the servant's hall table when he entered the room. The entire staff, including Mrs. Hughes, stood. He pulled out his chair and sat. The kitchen maids started bringing in food. He reached for the teapot only to have her beat him to it.

"I'll pour Mr. Carson." He nodded briskly and leaned back in his chair.

She placed the cup in front of him then poured her own. She noticed he waited for her to finish before picking up his own cup. Watching him carefully, she moved her own cup to her lips. He took a sip from his then looked at it oddly.

For a moment she panicked, then his over large hand cupped the dainty tea cup and he took another sip. His eyes closed and he seemed to sigh in appreciation.

Placing the cup back on the saucer he leaned toward her, "Thank you Mrs. Hughes. I have never cared for Mrs. Cross' tea. It was always sickeningly sweet, I felt as if I should be in the nursery. She put so much sugar and milk it strangled the tea." Nodding his head toward his cup, "This is a perfectly prepared cup."

Secretly pleased with herself, she nodded. "Thank you Mr. Carson. As I didn't know how you liked your tea, I simply prepared it the way I prefer it."

"Mrs. Hughes, can I offer you a slice of toast?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson, I would like one. Jam only please."

He spread the toast with jam then placed it on the edge of her plate, "It would seem we aren't perfectly aligned Mrs. Hughes. I like jam and butter."

An outburst at the end of the table drew their attention. Before Mr. Carson could respond, Mrs. Hughes intervened, "Camille and John, there is no need for such an outburst at breakfast. At other meals you can be more boisterous but at breakfast a sense of decorum if you please."

Mumbled "Yes Mrs. Hughes" followed as the offending maid and footman returned to their breakfast. She turned back to hers and out of the corner of her eye caught Mr. Carson staring at her with a wondrous gleam in his eye. She tucked into her porridge, deliberately ignoring his stare.

After a moment, he turned away from her and started eating his own breakfast. She lingered as he stood when the bells started ringing. He bid everyone a good day and was on his way. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn there was an extra spring in his step and a smile on his face. Perhaps today would be a better day.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She smiled at herself in the mirror as she washed her face. It was a self-satisfied smile. Today had been a very good day. Mr. Carson had been polite and helpful. He'd even shared a few secrets of the house with her.

She thought about the journal. At no point during the day had she been forced to chase down Charles Carson to get him to eat. In fact, he even beat her to the table at teatime. She laughed to herself about his comment regarding Mrs. Cross' tea. It was good to know they were of the same mind on that matter.

Digging in her wardrobe, she pulled out the journal. Carrying it across the room, she crawled into her bed. Opening it to "Rule 1", she picked up her pencil and scratched out the entry. At the bottom of the page, she wrote.

 _Prefers tea with one spoon of sugar and a splash of milk. Milk should be put into cup before tea. Keep the staff quiet until after he leaves the table._

Looking at her entry she decided it was enough. She closed the journal, placed it on her nightstand, snuffed out the candle and went to sleep.

* * *

Several months had passed, the house ran smoothly. Together, they were quite a formidable team. The true test was coming, as they planned for the annual garden party.

She'd invited him to her sitting room for tea to discuss it. There were a few things she wanted to change. No one attending the party would notice any of her changes. The changes would simply make it more efficient for the staff. Knowing his love of efficiency she felt certain he would approve.

To make their meeting even more pleasant she had even arranged for his favorite apple tart. Putting the last touches on the tray, she waited. The wait wasn't long. At precisely the prescribed time, he knocked on her door, "Mrs. Hughes, is now still a good time?"

She smiled at him, "Of course, Mr. Carson." She motioned to a chair, a recent addition to the room. As he sat she turned to pour the tea, "I thought we might have some tea and a treat while we talked about the garden party. I hope you don't mind."

He shuffled about in the chair, "That would be fine. Is this a new chair Mrs. Hughes?"

Placing a cup of tea and a plate with apple tart on the table next to him she nodded, "It is Mr. Carson. Lady Grantham told me I could look around in the attics if I wanted to select a few new pieces for my sitting room. It was very kind of her."

He squirmed around a few more times, clearly uncomfortable, "What other changes have you planned?"

Sitting across from him, she shrugged, "I haven't decided yet. I do know I want a different desk. There is one I spotted but it will require a bit of cleaning. I thought after the garden party, when things calm a bit, I would have a few of the hall boys bring it down."

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with the desk you have?"

She looked over at the large, imposing desk, "It's really more of a man's desk. And it does take up an awful lot of room. The one in the attic is decidedly smaller, it will make the room feel larger." Smiling back at him she nodded toward his tart, "Eat up Mr. Carson, then we can talk about some changes I believe we should make to the garden party."

He bristled in the chair, "There is no need to change anything about the garden party. We have been doing it the same way for over a decade and it has always worked well."

Rolling her eyes, "Mr. Carson, I am not suggesting we overthrow the monarchy just make a few changes to make it easier on the staff. No one attending the party will even notice the changes."

"No, we will not be making any changes." He gestured wildly about her office, "I might not have any say over the changes you make in this room but I do have a say over changes we make in parties held in this house and that is final."

She stared after him, shocked at his bluster. Was he really that set in his ways that he wouldn't even entertain her suggestions? The long forgotten journal flashed into her head. She wondered what Mrs. Cross would have to say about this.

* * *

Mr. Carson had avoided her all afternoon and evening. He'd skipped dinner asking for a tray in his pantry. She hadn't gone in search of him. If he wanted to pout he was welcome to act like a child. She laughed at the thought. Perhaps that was why Mrs. Cross made his tea so sweet. Act like a child, be treated like a child.

Closing her office door she walked past his partially open door without a second glance. For a moment, she thought she'd heard him near the door but she refused to pause. She had no intention mollycoddling him.

In her room, she handled her nightly ablutions. It took her a few minutes to find the journal, having not even looked at it in a few months. Sitting in her chair she was distracted by angry stomping in the room next to her.

It had taken her almost a month to realize Mr. Carson shared a wall with her. Typically, he was quiet as a church mouse. So quiet that for a while she'd been certain he didn't actually sleep in the room. Tonight he was definitely not quiet. He seemed to be throwing things around. Apparently he was still in a snit. For a brief moment, she considered banging on the shared wall.

A giggle escaped her lips as she imagined his dismay if she knocked on the wall. The giggle bubbled into genuine laughter, filling the room. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she remembered his bluster in her sitting room earlier. It would serve him right. Her hand itched to knock but she suppressed the desire. The noise escalated and her mirth disappeared. She didn't care how dismayed he might be if he kept up that racket she would knock.

Shaking her head, she opened the journal and began to read.

 ** _Rule 2_**

 _Mr. Carson takes events held at Downton very seriously. Over the years, he has determined the best way to hold these events. You might have other opinions but making changes will require a battle. There are battles worth choosing, this will not be one of them. It is best to simply let Mr. Carson have his way. You might be able to change minor things but only over the course of many years._

She slammed the book closed, fighting the desire to throw it across the room. How had this woman let the man get away with such behavior? Let him have his way, small changes over many years. Absolutely not! Tomorrow morning Charles Carson was going to be dragged, kicking and screaming if necessary, into 1910.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mrs. Hughes was waiting for him outside of his pantry the next morning. She tried to ignore his groan when he saw her, "Good Morning Mr. Carson, I trust you slept well."

"Do you need something Mrs. Hughes?"

Barely keeping her temper in check she followed him into his pantry, "I thought since you left before we had our conversation last night we might continue it this morning."

He looked at her, stunned. "I would think the fact I walked out after telling you there would be no changes would have been conversation enough. My word, as I said last night, is final. Now if you don't mind, I have better things to do."

Raising herself to her full height she looked up at him, her eyes darkening. "I would have thought a man of your standards would be open to suggestions which would make the event even more efficient than it has been in the past. However, clearly I was mistaken. If mediocrity is the standard you are comfortable with I clearly overestimated the caliber of man you are."

His voice grew deeper, louder. It filled the room, echoing off the very corners, "Are you saying I am mediocre, Mrs. Hughes?"

Her lips tightened, did he really think his voice was going to cow her in any way? "Any person who isn't willing to listen to others dooms themselves to mediocrity. Good day Mr. Carson, I have a mediocre garden party to plan."

* * *

The next few weeks passed in awkward silence between the two heads of staff. Mrs. Hughes resolutely refused to make his tea each morning. She would fix hers then turn to speak to the person next to her. He tried to duplicate what she did and while it came close, it was never quite the same.

Each morning he still prepared her toast, placing it politely on the edge of her plate. Each morning it remained on her plate, uneaten. She'd tuck into her porridge, finish it quickly then left the table before the bells started to ring.

The minute he went upstairs to serve the family breakfast she would return to the servant's hall and have a second cup of tea. During that time she would meet with Mrs. Patmore, setting her plans into action. She would make her changes with or without his approval.

"Mrs. Hughes, while these plans will make it much easier for me and my maids, are you certain Mr. Carson will handle it well?"

Taking a last sip from her cup she smiled, "Quite frankly I don't care what Mr. Carson thinks. I tried to have a civilized conversation and he stormed off in a huff one and dismissed me the second time. None of these changes will even impact him. They are all related to your staff and how things are set up. I've had the last two years to observe this event, I think I know what I am doing."

Stifling a laugh the cook stood and headed to her kitchen, "As you wish but be prepared for the fall out. Mr. Carson doesn't like change."

Inhaling deeply, she counted to ten quelling the jolt of anger. "Yes, I am well aware of Mr. Carson's distaste for change. But we can't always get what we want. Best he learns that now."

Mrs. Patmore watched Mrs. Hughes walk away. She was a spitfire, that one. If nothing else it should be fun to watch. And perhaps the next housekeeper would give her the store room key.

* * *

He sat in his office, alone as always. No one ever stopped by, unless they needed something. People passed his door every day, he knew they were on their way to bed or to town even just to take a walk. They never stopped, never inquired about him, never bade him good night, never asked if he needed anything.

She was different. Each of her girls made a point of saying good night. If they were going to town, they asked if she needed something or if she perhaps wanted to walk with them. If not for the family, he could probably go days without anyone speaking to him. Oh, he talked to staff but always him directing them or them asking a question related only to the performance of their duties.

When Mrs. Cross was here she would come into his pantry. Bringing him food and her awful tea. But he knew it wasn't because she wanted to spend time with him. Her concern was keeping him fed, keeping him fit for duty. He'd never really wanted her presence.

Somehow it seemed more pronounced now. Each morning he looked at her plate, a solitary piece of toast left abandoned, mocking him. It felt like a symbol of their non-existent relationship. He'd felt they were off to such a good start.

After the rough first day, she had forgiven him, scolded him just a bit. But then it was all put in the past and they worked as a unit. She'd even invited him to her sitting room for tea. She'd taken note and had his favorite dessert. Then it had all gone wrong.

He couldn't even say why. One minute they were having a conversation about furniture and the next she was mocking him and he'd left. He'd been happy to leave, the chair was horribly uncomfortable. Of course, by the time he'd made it to his room he'd been upset.

Upset with her for changing things, rearranging his life. Then upset with himself for how he'd handled it. Realizing how much noise he was making, he'd calmed. Decided he would apologize to her the next morning. Explain to her why they couldn't possibly make changes. She would see reason, would forgive him again. They would go back to their cordial relationship. She would always forgive him. Mrs. Cross always had.

She'd been waiting for him the next morning. It bothered him because he wasn't ready to face her, didn't know what he would say. She'd tried to continue the conversation and before he knew it rather than apologizing he was berating her. Mrs. Cross would have just left his pantry, left well enough alone. She would have known he just needed a bit of space.

But not that blasted woman, she had challenged him. Called him mediocre. Never in his life had anyone ever made him feel so small and insignificant. It didn't matter that he was twice her size. For a split second, he'd been afraid of the diminutive woman. The fire in her eyes hinted at all sorts of hidden, dare he say passion.

Since then she'd avoided him. Even at meals she made a point of chatting with everyone else around her but wouldn't even meet his eyes. That first breakfast she'd made a cup of tea for herself but not for him. He'd placed her accustomed piece of toast on her plate and she had studiously ignored it. It had been the same every day since.

If he caught her in the hallway, she would answer his questions but nothing more. She never inquired as to his night's sleep or how he was feeling. All things she did for every other member of staff. When he went to her door to ask questions, she would stand and join him at the door, physically blocking him from entering. When he would turn to leave, the door would close behind him. The snick of it catching echoing in his mind.

He was surrounded by people and never more alone. He tried to read through the detailed list she'd put on his desk at some point. It outlined all of the details for the next day. Even the planning of the annual garden party had become just a piece of paper, passed between them, with minor notes in the margins.

A small part of him had hoped the garden party would be the beginning of a partnership. While he and Mrs. Cross had worked well together, it had never felt like a true partnership. She'd always let him do what he wanted with minimal input. Reading through her notes, it seemed that was to be his lot with her too. He had no one to blame but himself.

What really hurt, he wanted her input. He still didn't understand why he'd reacted the way he had. He'd gone to her office that day to ask for her suggestions. Then suddenly he'd been irritated, she was pushing too hard, changing too fast and he exploded. He didn't know how to fix this. He'd never had to in the past.

Her footsteps drew his attention. They stopped near his door and for a brief moment he thought she might knock. Then she'd turned and gone back to her sitting room. He heard the door open, she took a few steps in then left again. As she passed his door her steps never even slowed.

* * *

She was dressed, ready for her first garden party. Her changes would go into place today. Mr. Carson would have to get over it. A small part of her knew she might be making a mistake. Shaking her head as she took one last look in the looking glass and nodded. There was nothing she could do now. She would deal with the fallout as it came.

The kitchen was in full swing as she walked through it. Mrs. Patmore nodded tersely as she ordered a few of the kitchen maids around. Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows in question and Mrs. Patmore waved her to the side, "Are you still set on this course?"

"Mrs. Patmore, having Mr. Carson set in his ways is one thing. I would have thought you would be supportive as it will be easier on your staff."

Raising her hands in surrender, "I support you fully." Mrs. Hughes nodded then turned to leave. "Even if I think it might be your one and only garden party."

Mrs. Hughes turned to her, eyes blazing, "Care to place a small wager on that Mrs. Patmore?"

A tight smile on her face Mrs. Patmore nodded, "What do you have in mind?"

"If Mr. Carson isn't apologizing to me by the end of the day, I will give you the store room key. But when he does, not only will you not get the key, you can't complain about it for one full year."

"That's not a fair wager. If you're gone I will get the store room key anyway."

"No you won't, I will make sure to leave a note for the next housekeeper. I will also tell her ladyship."

Mrs. Patmore scoffed, "You wouldn't."

She took a step closer to the shorter woman, "Wouldn't I? I changed the entire organization of this event without discussing it with Mr. Carson. Do you doubt what I am capable of?"

Suddenly Mrs. Patmore was certain the event would go off without a hitch. She also knew Mr. Carson would be apoplectic when he saw the changes. Yet somehow, she was absolutely positive he would be the one apologizing by the end of the day. "Too rich for my blood."

Mrs. Hughes smiled to herself as she left the kitchen. She was the first person seated at the table but was quickly joined by the others. She was giving a few last minute directions to her girls when Mr. Carson joined them.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Breakfast passed quickly. Mrs. Hughes pushed her girls along wanting to take one more look over the setup before things got started. He'd watched her from the corner of his eye. The solitary piece of toast abandoned on her plate. Anger bubbled up in him, ridiculous, obstinate woman.

The bells started ringing. He stood, casting one last glance at the piece of toast, then went to start his day. The footmen were carrying laden dishes up the stairs in preparation of breakfast. He shook his head, trying to clear thoughts of her from it. It wouldn't do to go in front of the family and guests thinking of her.

* * *

She surveyed the set-up. To anyone attending the event, everything would be as it always had been. It was behind the scenes where all of the changes had occurred. She had noticed in years past how the servants tripped over one another getting to certain things. Items ran out and there was no order and then the footmen or maids had to go to the kitchen which took them away from the guests. And, of course, whoever was the bossiest got what they needed leaving others without.

As a result, she had staged the serving area completely differently. She had assigned each hall boy to a particular station. They were responsible for running back and forth from the kitchens and refilling items. This would keep the footmen and the maids out serving the guests. If all went to plan, no one would ever run out of anything and the guests would feel even more attended to than usual.

Even better, if Mr. Carson stayed close to the family as he typically did, he would never know she had made any changes. Happy with everything she headed inside to check on the kitchens. The sound of Mrs. Patmore scolding a wayward maid told her everything was progressing as it should. She skirted along the edge nodding briefly to Mrs. Patmore. Instantly the woman waved her away.

Walking along the hallways she made sure all of the extra linens and glasses were stacked where they should be. She stopped briefly to confirm things with one of the younger hall boys. He was nervous as this was his first event. But he knew his job and was ready. A few warm words and he was smiling.

She continued on past his office to her sitting room. A small smile played across her face as she closed the door behind her, did he actually know how to apologize? It would all be so much easier if he would just listen. They had had several good months of collaboration. Why couldn't he see how much better they were as a united team?

Today would be the test. If he could admit his mistake, she would consider staying. Otherwise she would see the family to the next season and spend their time away finding employment elsewhere. Perhaps another family where she could run two homes, not just the one. It wasn't fair that Mr. Carson went back and forth with the family while she was left behind. Yes, perhaps that would be the better opportunity.

Enough dilly dallying, it was time to go to work. She could hear the hall boys chattering, knew they were gathering their things. One last look to make certain her hair was straight and off she went. She paused for a second saying a silent prayer things went according to her plan. She wasn't sure she could bear it if Mr. Carson was proved right.

* * *

The event was going perfectly. Even Mrs. Patmore had come up for a moment to comment on how easy it had been. A noise behind her distracted her. Looking back she found one of the smallest hall boys struggling with a crate.

"Michael, let me help you with that."

He shook his head, "No, Mrs. Hughes, I can get it. You'll see I am just as strong as the other boys."

Gently taking half the weight she smiled at him, "Of course you are, but this crate is almost as tall as you are. It doesn't matter how strong you are if you can't see where you are going."

He looked up at her, "You won't tell the other boys will you…" His eyes widened, she saw fear creep across his face.

"Of course not, Michael, it will be our little secret."

"Apparently, you like keeping secrets Mrs. Hughes."

She froze, cursing to herself. Catching the arm of the nearest person, "John, please take this crate. I need Michael to attend to something else."

The footman took the crate and seeing the look on the butler's face promptly disappeared. Mrs. Hughes turned to tell Michael to run along but he was already gone. She turned to Mr. Carson and lifted her chin defiantly, "I wasn't aware I was keeping any secrets."

He waved frantically at the set-up, "This, you did all of this after I told you not to make any changes."

"Yes, I did. You wouldn't listen." She pointed to the party, "Everything out there is your domain." Waving her arms around, "Everything back here, where no one but staff can see is my domain. I only changed things in my area which, I might add, is well within my rights to do."

His voice raised a notch. A few glasses rattled as those closest to them tried to get away. "I told you not to make any changes."

"You've already said that Mr. Carson. And raising your voice to me will never get the results you want." He opened his mouth to speak and she grabbed his arm and pulled him physically from the area. Once certain no one could see or hear them she stopped. "It is neither the time nor the place to have this discussion, Mr. Carson. I would think someone who holds himself to such standards would know better."

"Again, you lecture me on standards?"

"Just calling a spade a spade Mr. Carson."

"I have never had someone speak to me in such a manner."

She laughed, "With the way you've acted over the past few weeks I find it difficult to believe. Perhaps it's time someone did." She walked past him headed back to the party.

"I was not finished speaking."

She gave him a cold look over her shoulder, "Perhaps not, but I was finished listening. When you have calmed down and after the party has finished, you can find me and we can discuss this calmly and rationally. But not one second before."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

She left him standing, alone, gaping after her. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. Finally he followed after her. As he rounded the corner of the house he watched the event. People were laughing and enjoying themselves. Even the servants seemed relaxed as they went about their jobs. There was none of the normal tension surrounding the day.

Remembering he'd left the family unattended, he hurried back to his post. He was pleased to realize no one had noted his absence. Standing off to the side, he let his mind wander. His anger returning as he thought of her treachery. She'd let him believe he'd won, that she would do things his way. _No Charles, you let yourself believe that. At no point did she actually agree with you._

"Carson, I must compliment you. This might be the most well organized garden party at Downton since I was planning them….Carson?"

"Yes milady."

The Dowager raised her eyebrow, "Were you away with the fairies Carson?"

He shook his head, "No milady, just thinking of a staffing issue I need to deal with later."

"Well I hope it includes congratulating the new housekeeper on a job well done."

He stared at her, "I beg your pardon, milady."

Cora intervened, "I think what mama is trying to say is the changes Mrs. Hughes implemented were well received."

"You knew about the changes milady?"

Taking a sip from her glass, "Of course, we discussed them earlier in the week. Mama was here having tea she thought they were an excellent suggestion. It was quite genius. Surely you've noticed how much calmer it's seemed today."

Regaining his composure he nodded, "Of course milady. The day has been a grand success."

"I can't wait to see what she does with the cricket match."

Suppressing a groan at the havoc she could wreak there, "Yes milady."

* * *

Everyone was finally gone. The last items were being put away by the hall boys. Mrs. Hughes was having a cup of tea with Mrs. Patmore, "Has he apologized to you yet?"

Looking away nervously she shrugged, "Not yet, but he will."

"You don't seem nearly as confident as you did a few days ago."

"I am neither more nor less confident, I am simply exhausted. I look forward to getting the family to bed so I can have an early night myself."

Sharp footsteps announced the arrival of Miss O'Brien, "Mrs. Hughes, her ladyship would like to see you in her room…now."

Rolling her eyes at the odious woman, she stood, "Thank you Miss O'Brien."

Anxiety filled her as she made the trek upstairs. She had seen Mr. Carson speaking with the Dowager and Lady Grantham shortly after their spat. No doubt he'd said something to them about her insubordination. She wondered if she would be chastised or let go.

At the door, she took a few deep breaths before knocking lightly on the door. A faint come in could be heard and she opened the door. "You asked to see me Lady Grantham?"

Cora closed her book and smiled, "I did. I wanted to congratulate you on a very successful garden party."

She froze, unsure she was hearing the right thing, "Thank you milady."

"Even the Dowager Countess commented on how well it went. I think she quite shocked Carson when she told him. I do believe he was rendered speechless. I'm not sure I've ever seen that happen before."

Mrs. Hughes suppressed a smile, "No, ma'am, I don't believe I've ever seen it either."

"Mrs. Hughes, is Carson being supportive of you, in your new role?" Seeing the look of dismay on her face, Cora continued, "It's only he can be resistant to change."

"He has balked at a few of my ideas but mostly he has been accepting."

"And he hasn't tried to push aside your ideas, in favor of his own?"

A small smiled played at the edges of Mrs. Hughes' smile, "I assure you milady, I am more than capable of standing up to Mr. Carson."

Cora nodded, "Good, perhaps it's just because I'm American, but I think women should stand up to men. Put them in their place from time to time. But do be careful with him, let him win one every so often."

"I'll take that under advisement, milady. Would you like me to send Miss O'Brien up?"

"Yes, and if you could tell her Lord Grantham and I will just take a tray in my room. The girls will also be eating in their rooms. That way the staff can have a nice early evening."

"I'll let everyone know milady. The staff will appreciate it. Thank you."

* * *

Once outside of the room she took a deep breath. He hadn't said anything. Although her ladyship must have suspected something, her odd comments. Either way, the family was happy and Mr. Carson would get over it.

Hurrying along the way she headed downstairs. In the kitchen she told Mrs. Patmore about the family's plans then scurried along to the servant's hall. Miss O'Brien was insolently smoking a cigarette at the table, "Miss O'Brien, her ladyship would like a tray in her room tonight. His lordship will be joining her."

"Well I hope she isn't expecting me to carry both of those trays."

Rolling her eyes she took a deep breath, "I am sure she expects Lord Grantham's valet to bring it up."

"Am I supposed to tell him too?"

"Yes, you are. It's not as if you have done much else today. So put out that blasted cigarette and make yourself useful. And I'll not have one more word out of you."

Miss O'Brien crushed out the cigarette and went in search of the elusive valet. She'd figure out something to say to the lady of the house about the impertinent new housekeeper.

Mrs. Hughes watched the woman walk away. Without a doubt that tirade would come back to haunt her but it had felt good. Applause behind her made her turn. Mrs. Patmore was standing in the doorframe clapping slowly, "What are you on about?"

"That woman has been here for two years and you are the first person to put her in her place. You're on quite the roll. Upsetting Mr. Carson's apple cart, a successful garden party made vastly easier thanks to your changes and telling off Miss O'Brien, what will you do for an encore?"

"I thought I'd take a tray to my room and polish the key to the storeroom."

"Will that be so it's nice and shiny when you give it to me tomorrow?"

"And why would I be giving it to you?"

"We had a wager. I saw him earlier, he won't be apologizing anytime soon."

"You said the wager was too rich for your blood. While you might be right about Mr. Carson apologizing, it doesn't matter. Next time don't be so afraid."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

He'd searched everywhere for her and couldn't find her. He knew if she wanted to avoid him she easily could. Walking into the servant's hall he said a silent prayer she was there. Instead he found Miss O'Brien smoking at the table, "Miss O'Brien, you haven't seen Mrs. Hughes have you?"

"Not since she came back from her ladyship's rooms and told me off."

He blinked, trying to figure a way to ask a question without seeming to need the answer, "She visited with Lady Grantham?"

"Yes, her ladyship sent for her shortly after the party ended. Then she came back here, sent me off to do her job and I haven't seen her since."

"What did she ask you to do?"

"Tell his lordship's valet that he would be needing a tray in his room tonight. Apparently all of the family will be eating in their rooms."

Annoyed with the tone of her voice, he interrupted, "How long ago was this?"

She shrugged, "I don't know an hour ago perhaps."

Walking through the room, he nodded. "Thank you Miss O'Brien."

Entering the kitchen he nodded at Mrs. Patmore, sitting at her desk. "Have you seen Mrs. Hughes?"

She hid a small smile, perhaps the old dog was learning a new trick, "Not since she took a tray up to her room. With the family all dining in their rooms she decided to call it an early night. Was there something you needed Mr. Carson?"

He looked down at her, "No, I needed to discuss today with Mrs. Hughes. I guess it will keep until tomorrow."

"I'd say she's earned a good rest. I don't know I've ever seen the garden party be so much a success. Have you Mr. Carson?"

"There is always room for improvement Mrs. Patmore."

"You'll be hard pressed to improve on today."

He turned on his heel leaving her alone in the kitchen. She managed to suppress her laughter until he was around the corner.

 **Insert Line**

He paced in his office. It was simple, he'd been wrong, bullish, stubborn. Had he been willing to listen they could have shared this triumph. He had just the bottle. He'd wanted to share it with someone for quite a long time. Tonight would have been a good time. Mrs. Cross hadn't cared for wine, wouldn't know a good vintage from something pressed in a bath tub. He'd suffered through enough of her tea he hadn't been inclined to share good wine with her.

He could apologize to her in the morning, but would it be enough? Three times he had berated her, was it one time too many?

A loud crash outside of his pantry distracted him. Moving quickly to the doorway he was confronted by three hall boys and several overturned crates. He started to yell then heard her voice in his head, " _And raising your voice to me will never get the results you want_."

He took a deep breath, "Boys, what happened?"

"Michael tried to carry that big crate and knocked over the other ones."

He gathered from the two older boys pointing that Michael was the smallest of the trio. The young boy looked absolutely terrified. He recognized him as the young boy Mrs. Hughes had helped earlier. She'd been keeping his secret.

Looking up at the large man, Michael stood a little taller. "I told them I was strong enough to carry it. And I would have been fine if I hadn't missed that step."

Mr. Carson fought a smile at the young boy's pluck, "Were you carrying that large crate?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson, I'm very strong. I might be little but it don't mean I can't carry big things. Plus I wanted to make sure these crates were cleared away before Mrs. Hughes came down in the morning. She told us to do it. And if we do it now we can sleep a bit later in the morning."

"That's very good thinking Michael. You like helping Mrs. Hughes, don't you?"

The little boy nodded his head, "Yes sir, she's really nice. I help her all the time." He moved a little closer to Mr. Carson and tugged on his jacket. When Mr. Carson leaned over the young boy whispered, "And if you help her, she makes sure you get an extra biscuit or two."

Looking to the two older boys who were barely containing laughter he gave them a sneer, "I believe you two can finish clearing off these crates, tonight." He had to hide another smile at their disappointment, "Michael, perhaps you could help me with something?"

"Does it involve lifting anything? I promise I'm real strong Mr. Carson."

This time he did smile, "It does indeed involve lifting and if you are as strong as you say, there might even be an extra slice of apple tart for you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He'd been up all night. The young hall boy had been very helpful. Together they had done something he hoped would get him back into her good graces. As he'd stood in the hallway the night before listening to young boy talk about carrying big things he knew how to make it up to her.

Simple apologies work for simple mistakes. Big mistakes needed big gestures. Michael had been key to his plan. Looking at his handiwork he hoped it would be enough. Looking at the clock he realized how late it was. He needed to get back to his room to change before his day began.

* * *

Again she'd woken early, but surprisingly well-rested. Getting out of bed she took her time dressing and was still walking out of her room before the maid knocked on the door. Carrying her tray she made her way carefully down the stairs.

In the kitchen, she washed her dishes and left them on a towel to dry. The kettle was already hot so someone was about. She made a quick cup of tea then headed to her sitting room. She would use the quiet to begin working through all of her invoices from the garden party.

Opening her sitting room door she was already making a mental list of the things she needed to do. When the door swung open, she stopped, almost dropping the cup of tea. The over large, manly desk which had consumed the room was gone. In its place was the smaller desk she'd found in the attics.

Except it wasn't filthy as it had been in the attics. It was pristine, possibly cleaner than when it was new. She was stunned. Moving closer to the desk she started opening drawers. Her things were neatly tucked into each drawer, just the way she would have done it. Every single item in the perfect place.

She set the tea cup down and turned in the room. It was exactly as she'd imagined it. The smaller desk opened up the room, made it more inviting. The two chairs on the other side of the room drew her eye. They weren't the ones she'd had before. These were slightly bigger, cushioned and just as gleaming as the desk.

Cautiously she sat in one and almost laughed as she realized how much more comfortable they were. She'd picked the other chairs because they were lovely but she had to admit they were dreadfully uncomfortable. Except for the night Mr. Carson had come to her sitting room for tea, that dreadful night, she hadn't sat in them. Since then she would sit in her office chair and let others sit in the blasted things. She'd planned on returning them to the attics after the garden party, replacing them with more comfortable chairs.

"Might I offer you a cup of tea?"

She looked up, startled. "I already have a cup of tea Mr. Carson."

Holding up the tray just a bit higher, "Yes, but it's all the way across the room. I've included a few shortbread biscuits."

She nodded and he sat, "How did you do all of this?"

He smiled at her across the table, "What makes you think I did?"

"I suppose elves did it?"

Nodding, he shrugged, "Possibly, or perhaps ghosts?"

"I don't, for a moment, think either of us believe in fairies or ghosts."

"Probably not."

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally she turned to him, "I thought we were going to have tea."

Looking down, sheepishly, "I'm afraid I don't know how you take your tea."

Her laughter filled the room, a sound he found quite intoxicating. She proceeded to make a cup for each of them, explaining each step to him. Once she had prepared each cup, she handed one to him then lifted her own, "Now you know Mr. Carson."

He took a sip of his tea and sighed in contentment. Several minutes passed then she heard his deep breath, "I am very sorry Mrs. Hughes."

"What exactly are you sorry for Mr. Carson?"

"I am sorry for not listening to you. I am sorry for losing my temper with you. And I am sorry for raising my voice to you."

She felt a blush creep up her neck. She hadn't expected him to be quite so effusive. Was it possible Mr. Carson had a, dare she think it, passionate side about him? "Well I think this proves one thing wrong Mr. Carson."

He looked at her, confusion filling his eyes, "I don't understand."

She waved her hands around the room, "You do listen. How else would you have known about the desk?"

He looked away from her, "I might have had a bit of help with that."

"Of course you had help. But you listened to me about the desk."

He nodded, "I wish I had listened to you about the other things. I truly am sorry."

"Apology accepted Mr. Carson." She paused for a moment, making sure she'd caught his eye, "I think if we work together, we are going to be a formidable team."

"I do too, Mrs. Hughes. And if you would like, I would like to toast our first successful event together. Or rather, your first successful event."

She raised her tea cup to mock salute him and he laughed. A deep, rumbling noise that echoed through her sitting room. It was a thrilling noise that took her breath away. "What is so funny Mr. Carson?"

"I meant a proper toast, this evening. I have a bottle of sherry, or wine if you prefer. I thought we might share a glass or two." She sat back in her chair, stunned by his proposition. Seeing her movement, he continued, "I think we've both earned it and who knows, perhaps we can start a tradition."

"Tradition?"

"Yes, every time we host a successful event we share a glass of wine. I never did with Mrs. Cross, she always brought her overly sweet tea. This can be our tradition."

"Does it only have to be after an event? We do have many things we need to discuss."

"Nothing says we can't do it more regularly?"

"Then I agree Mr. Carson."

Hearing movement in the hallway, he stood and lifted the tray, "After dinner, in my pantry, or in here if you prefer?"

"No, Mr. Carson, you came to me. It's only fair I come to you."

* * *

The day passed quickly. Mr. Carson had his tea made by Mrs. Hughes at breakfast. Mrs. Hughes ate the toast he placed gently on the edge of her plate. They each went about their day with an extra spring in their step.

At the end of the night as the last of the servants were heading upstairs Mrs. Hughes tapped lightly on his door. When she didn't get an answer she pushed it open. Fast asleep in his easy chair was Mr. Carson. The decanted wine and two glasses were on the table beside him.

She watched him sleep, a small smile playing across her lips. She should wake him but she knew he would feel compelled to stay and have a glass of wine with her. Instead she returned to her sitting room and removed the small throw she kept tucked away for when it was chilly.

Returning to his pantry she gently draped it over him. A single, dark curl had fallen over his forehead. She was tempted to brush it back but stopped herself at the last moment. Checking the fire was safe, she snuffed out a few candles then quietly backed out of the room. As she closed the door, he shifted in his chair pulling the throw more tightly around him.

She smiled to herself all the way to her room. Wine would wait for another day, they had many of those in their future. All that mattered, for now, was Mr. Carson had apologized and they had a new tradition. The idea of a tradition made her think of the journal. Racing to her room she dug it out of the bureau.

Sitting at her desk she turned to Rule 2.

 _Mr. Carson takes events held at Downton very seriously. Over the years, he has determined the best way to hold these events. You might have other opinions but making changes will require a battle. There are battles worth choosing, this will not be one of them. It is best to simply let Mr. Carson have his way. You might be able to change minor things but only over the course of many years._

Laughing to herself she scratched it out. She replaced it instead with her own words.

 _Mr. Carson can be exceedingly stubborn. In no uncertain terms is he to be allowed to win every battle. He needs to be stood up to on a regular basis. Push him to change, especially when it will ultimately help him. He might argue back but when he is proved wrong, he is surprisingly kind. Make sure you are kind to him in return._


	11. Chapter 11

Epilogue – 15 years later

There were boxes all around the room, a lifetime of memories accumulated and packed away. The boxes had all been delivered all at once and left haphazardly around the cottage. Now they had to put everything away and get settled in their cottage.

She smiled as he turned in the room, looking at the chaos. His tension was evident in his body language. Closing the distance between them, she gently touched his arm. He looked down at her a slight panic in his eyes, "If we each take a different room, it won't take too long."

His hand covered hers, "Of course, it just seems so much looking around. Who knew we had so many things?"

"Twenty odd years Charles, things accumulate."

He kissed her forehead tenderly, "The only thing I need is you."

"You have me. Now which room would you like to unpack?"

"I'll take this room. I want to be able to organize the books."

She smiled knowing he would be lost for hours in this one room. "I'll start in the kitchen, in case you need me."

He pulled her to him, "I'll always need you; I always have."

She pushed up kissing him lightly, "Oh there might have been a few years you weren't so sure about that."

"But I got there in the end."

"Yes you did. Now off to work for you."

Pulling her tighter to him, he leaned closer, "There is the minor question of payment Mrs. Carson."

A thrill ran through her at his use of her new name, "Payment?"

Lowering his head, he kissed her. A simple kiss filled with promise. He rested his forehead against hers as he pulled away, "Payment, Elsie."

She giggled, "Get away with you. Neither of us will ever rest if we don't get this done."

"Who says I planned on resting?"

She nuzzled into his chest, tempted to ignore all of the boxes and drag him upstairs to their bedroom with the large bed. "Imagine the payment if we get these all unpacked?"

Teasingly he pushed her away, "Get away with you. Do I get extra payment if I finish first?"

She laughed, knowing he would never finish before her. "If you finish before, then yes, I will arrange for extra payment."

"Off you go then. I will see you in a while ready to collect my extra payment."

* * *

Elsie had finished with the kitchen, small dining room and both bedrooms. She looked in on Charles regularly, checking on his progress. At the rate he was going, he might not finish this month much less today. She skirted the edges of the sitting room smiling at him when he looked up.

"I thought I might make some tea. Do you think you could take a break and join me?"

"Are you trying to distract me Elsie?"

"I've no need Charles. I'm already finished."

"You are not?"

"Yes, I am and if you would stop flipping through each book, you would have been finished hours ago."

"So no extra payment for me?"

She shook her head, "Not at all." Seeing his head drop, slightly, she laughed. "Will you join me for tea?"

"Of course, I'll keep working while you put everything together." She nodded then moved into the kitchen leaving him opening a new box.

He dug through the box, pulling out a handful of books. He opened the cover of each one looking for the author. Methodically he placed them in the proper place in the bookcase before reaching into the box for more books. He worked as quickly as he could wanting to finish the box before she called him.

Reaching into the box he found only one last book. Except this didn't look like a book, it looked more like a journal. Curiosity pulled at him.

Opening just the cover, he looked for a name. What he found surprised him so much he dropped the journal on the desk. The thud echoed around the room. He looked toward the kitchen hoping she hadn't heard.

Confident she hadn't he opened the cover again. Written in careful script on the first page was a simple title, "The Care and Feeding of Butlers." He collapsed into the settee staring at the words. Flipping through the first few pages he skimmed the words.

A sense of betrayal filtered through his mind. Had she really done this, used this. He stood making his way quickly to the kitchen. He watched her from the doorframe. She moved lithely around the kitchen, putting together the components of their tea.

She turned, smiling when she saw him in the doorway, "Did you finish already?"

He shook his head, "No." Holding up the journal, "I found this."

She closed the distance between them taking the journal. A fond smile crossed her face, "I'd forgotten about this. I don't think I've looked at it since our first garden party."

"You used this?"

She turned back to him, sensing his anger for the first time, "Not in the way you think Charles."

"So you did?"

Turning off the kettle she took his hand and led him back to the sitting room. She pulled him to sit beside her on the settee. "Mrs. Cross left this in that awful desk. I read the first two entries and revised them. And then I never touched it again. Honestly, I had forgotten about it until you came into the kitchen" She took his hand, puling it into her lap. He didn't hold it as he normally did. It sat placidly in her lap, "Charles, did you read it?"

Obstinately looking away from her, he shook his head. "I skimmed the first few pages."

Placing the book in his hand, she pushed it to him. "I think we need something slightly stronger than tea. I'll get it while you read those first few pages. I only ever read the first three, the letter addressed to me, rule 1 and rule 2. Read those, then we can talk."

She stood, kissed him gently on the forehead then moved to the kitchen. He sat, unmoving, anger bubbling inside him. Finally, he opened the book to the cover. The title infuriated him, he flipped past it and read the letter from Mrs. Cross. At the end of the letter he was stunned to discover it was a tradition. He wondered how many housekeepers had left just such a journal for the new housekeeper. The butlers certainly never did any such thing.

Roughly he turned the page, reading rule 1. Despite himself, a small smile played across his face at the description of Mrs. Cross' tea. He could almost taste its milky sweetness and he shuddered. The smile bloomed as he remembered the first morning Elsie had made his tea. His finger traced her handwriting as he read her revision.

Lovingly he turned the page. For a second his anger returned as he read Mrs. Cross' comments. Was this really what she'd thought of him? A trace of sadness filled him. He'd respected her, thought she felt the same. He looked down the page and found Elsie's change to the rule:

 _Mr. Carson can be exceedingly stubborn. In no uncertain terms is he to be allowed to win every battle. He needs to be stood up to on a regular basis. Push him to change, especially when it will ultimately help him. He might argue back but when he is proved wrong, he is surprisingly kind. Make sure you are kind to him in return._

Tears filled his eyes. In one paragraph, Elsie, his wife, had summed up their entire relationship. He couldn't count the number of times she had argued with him, battled him, pushed him, cajoled. And it had always been with the utmost kindness. He closed the book, not needing to see anymore.

She stood, watching him from the doorway. She knew the instant his anger passed, could sense it as she always had. Walking to him she offered him the glass of whisky. "Still angry with me?"

He looked up at her, taking the glass. "No. I might still be a bit angry with myself and perhaps Mrs. Cross."

Taking the book from his lap, she settled in it, wrapping her arm around his neck, "She had a great deal of respect for you. I think the book was more about me. She knew she and I were very different people. I think she was trying to change me so I could work well with you."

"And yet you never changed, instead you slowly changed me."

She took a sip of her whisky, "I like to think you evolved, adapted to the changing world. I merely helped steady you."

He took a sip of his drink, "You did you know. Steady me, long before I knew how to put words to it. You were there guiding me. I don't think I've ever thanked you for it."

Kissing him, tasting the smoky liquid on his lips, she smiled. "You never had to, I always knew."

They sat silently, sipping their drinks. When they finished he took her glass and placed it carefully on the floor next to his. Then he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her more tightly to him. "When did you know you loved me?"

She looked at him oddly, curious about the turn in the conversation. "When you had the Spanish Flu. I've never been so frightened. People were dying, even in the house. I was scared of losing you."

He nuzzled against her neck, "That's how I felt when I thought you had cancer. But it wasn't until you showed up at the house in London I knew I loved you. I suspect I had loved you for far longer but it was the first time I put a name to it." She laughed gently and he kissed her cheek, "What's so funny?"

"London was when I knew you loved me. It was why I offered you my hand. I knew I would have to lead you carefully but I was tired of waiting."

"That's right, you thought I'd never ask."

Turning her head she kissed him lightly, "But you did."

"And you said yes."

"I did."

"And all because we were kind to one another."

"I'm sorry I never told you about the journal. I honestly did forget about it. I made that last entry the day you put the new desk in my sitting room. Then I tucked it away and never looked at it again."

"Why not?"

"Because I knew then we were going to be a great team. I didn't need her guidance any longer. I had found my own path."

"Did you leave a journal for Mrs. Molesley?"

She nodded, "I did, but it was filled with secrets about the house. She already knows how to handle Mr. Barrow."

He shuddered at the thought, "So you kept the tradition alive?"

"Just a more useful version of it."

Lifting her, he moved her from his lap. Placing a gentle kiss to her forehead he smiled, "I like tradition, you know."

Staring at him, slightly annoyed at being moved from his lap, "Yes, I am aware."

He stood, taking the book from the settee. Walking across the room, he placed it neatly on the bookcase then turned back to her. "I believe there is the small matter of payment to discuss."

"As I recall, Charles, I finished before you so there is no extra payment."

Taking her hand, he pulled her off the settee, settling his arms around her waist. "You promised extra payment if I finished first. There was still a payment due regardless though."

"I was going to make your tea. Perhaps that would be payment enough?"

His hands dipped lower down her back, coming to rest gently cupping her bottom, "No, I have another payment in mind."

* * *

She left him sleeping in their bed. Quietly she made her way downstairs to the sitting room where she pulled the journal from its place on the book case. In the kitchen she found the scissors and very carefully cut all of the unread rules from the book.

Returning to the sitting room she tossed them onto the embers of the fire and watched as the flames caught, curling around them. Once certain there was nothing but ash remaining she moved to their shared desk.

Taking out a pen, she opened the journal to a fresh page and wrote.

 _If you are exceptionally lucky, respect and admiration will become love. You will hold his delicate heart in your hands as he will hold yours. It might not be the love story poets write about it but it will be just as sweet._

She put the pen away, returned the book to its place and climbed the stairs. Curling into his warm body, she wrapped her arm around him and slept.

* * *

Many years later as Sybbie Branson was cleaning the book shelves of her adoptive paternal grandparents she found the journal. Curious at its apparent newness amongst the older books she opened it.

Tears streamed down her face as she read the four entries. On the last page, she found the last entry Elsie had made. Directly beneath it, in handwriting she recognized as Charles' she found another entry.

 _Poets will tell our story and people around the world will fall in love with us. Our love was as grand as any story told even if it took us a little longer to get there. We got there in the end._


End file.
